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A MAN while awake is sensible of a continued train of objects passing in his mind. It requires no activity on his part to carry on the train: nor has he power to vary it by calling up an object at will[6]. At the same time we learn from daily experience, that a train of thought is not merely casual. And if it depend not upon will, nor upon chance, we must try to evolve by what law it is governed. The subject is of importance in the science of human nature; and I promise beforehand, that it will be found of great importance in the fine arts.

It appears that the relations by which things are linked together, have a great influence in directing the train of thought; and we find by experience, that objects are connected in the mind precisely as they are externally. Beginning then with things external, we find that they are not more remarkable by their inherent properties than by their various relations. We cannot any where extend our view without perceiving things connected together by certain relations. One thing perceived to be a cause, is connected with its several effects; some things are connected by contiguity in time, others by contiguity in place; some are connected by resemblance, some by contrast; some go before, some follow. Not a single thing appears solitary, and altogether devoid of connection. The only difference is, that some are intimately connected, some more slightly; some near, some at a distance.

Experience as well as reason may satisfy us, that the train of mental perceptions is in a great measure regulated by the foregoing relations. Where a number of things are linked together, the idea of any one suggests the rest; and in this manner is a train of thoughts composed. Such is the law of succession; whether an original law, or whether directed by some latent principle, is doubtful; and probably will for ever remain so. This law, however, is not inviolable. It sometimes happens, though rarely, that an idea presents itself to the mind without any connection, so far at least as can be discovered.

But though we have not the absolute command of ideas, yet the Will hath a considerable influence in directing the order of connected ideas. There are few things but what are connected with many others. By this means, when any thing becomes an object, whether in a direct survey, or ideally only, it generally suggests many of its connections. Among these a choice is afforded. We can insist upon one, rejecting others; and we can even insist upon what has the slightest connection. Where ideas are left to their natural course, they are generally continued through the strongest connections. The mind extends its view to a son more readily than to a servant, and more readily to a neighbour than to one living at a distance. This order may be varied by Will, but still within the limits of connected objects. In short, every train of ideas must be a chain, in which the particular ideas are linked to each other. We may vary the order of a natural train; but not so as to dissolve it altogether, by carrying on our thoughts in a loose manner without any connection. So far doth our power extend; and that power is sufficient for all useful purposes. To give us more power, would probably be detrimental instead of being salutary.

Will is not the only cause that prevents a train of thought from being continued through the strongest connections. Much depends on the present tone of mind; for a subject that accords with this tone is always welcome. Thus, in good spirits, a chearful subject will be introduced by the slightest connection; and one that is melancholy, not less readily in low spirits. Again, an interesting subject is recalled, from time to time, by any connection indifferently, strong or weak. This is finely touched by Shakespear, with relation to a rich cargo at sea.

My wind, cooling my broth,

Would blow me to an ague, when I thought

What harm a wind too great might do at sea.

I should not see the sandy hour-glass run,

But I should think of shallows and of flats;

And see my wealthy Andrew dock’d in sand,

Vailing her high top lower than her ribs,

To kiss her burial. Should I go to church,

And see the holy edifice of stone,

And not bethink me strait of dangerous rocks?

Which touching but my gentle vessel’s side,

Would scatter all the spices on the stream,

Enrobe the roaring waters with my silks,

And, in a word, but now worth this,

And now worth nothing.

Merchant of Venice, act 1. sc. 1.

Another cause clearly distinguishable from that now mentioned, hath also a considerable influence over the train of ideas. In some minds of a singular frame, thoughts and circumstances crowd upon each other by the slightest connection. I ascribe this to a defect in the faculty of discernment. A person who cannot accurately distinguish betwixt a slight connection and one that is more solid, is equally affected with both. Such a person must necessarily have a great command of ideas, because they are introduced by any relation indifferently; and the slighter relations, being without number, must furnish ideas without end. This doctrine is, in a lively manner, illustrated by Shakespear.

Falstaff. What is the gross sum that I owe thee?

Hostess. Marry, if thou wert an honest man, thyself and thy money too. Thou didst swear to me on a parcel-gilt goblet, sitting in my Dolphin chamber, at the round table, by a sea-coal fire, on Wednesday in Whitsun-week, when the Prince broke thy head for likening him to a singing man of Windsor, thou didst swear to me then, as I was washing thy wound, to marry me, and make me my Lady thy wife. Canst thou deny it? Did not Goodwife Keech, the butcher’s wife, come in then, and call me Gossip Quickly? Coming in to borrow a mess of vinegar; telling us she had a good dish of prawns; whereby thou didst desire to eat some; whereby I told thee they were ill for a green wound? And didst not thou, when she was gone down stairs, desire me to be no more so familiarity with such poor people, saying, that ere long they should call me Madam? And didst thou not kiss me, and bid me fetch thee thirty shillings? I put thee now to thy book-oath, deny it if thou canst.

Second part, Henry IV. act 2. sc. 2.

On the other hand, a man, of accurate judgement cannot have a great flow of ideas. The slighter relations making no figure in his mind, have no power to introduce ideas. And hence it is, that accurate judgement is not friendly to declamation or copious eloquence. This reasoning is confirmed by experience; for it is a noted observation, That a great or comprehensive memory is seldom connected with a good judgement.

As an additional confirmation, I appeal to another noted observation, That wit and judgement are seldom united. Wit consists chiefly in joining things by distant and fanciful relations, which surprise because they are unexpected. Such relations being of the slightest kind, readily occur to that person only who makes every relation equally welcome. Wit, upon that account, is, in a good measure, incompatible with solid judgement; which, neglecting trivial relations, adheres to what are substantial and permanent. Thus memory and wit are often conjoined: solid judgement seldom with either.

The train of thought depends not entirely upon relations: another cause comes in for a share; and that is the sense of order and arrangement. To things of equal rank, where there is no room for a preference, order cannot be applied; and it must be indifferent in what manner they be surveyed; witness the sheep that make a flock, or the trees in a wood. But in things of unequal rank, order is a governing principle. Thus our tendency is, to view the principal subject before we descend to its accessories or ornaments, and the superior before the inferior or dependent. We are equally averse to enter into a minute consideration of constituent parts, till the thing be first surveyed as a whole. In passing from a part to the whole, and from an accessory to its principal, the connection is the same as in the opposite direction. But a sense of order aids the transition in the latter case, and a sense of disorder obstructs it in the former. It needs scarce be added, that in thinking or reflecting on any of these particulars, and in passing from one to another ideally, we are sensible of easiness or difficulty precisely as when they are set before our eyes.

Our sense of order is conspicuous with respect to natural operations; for it always coincides with the order of nature. Thinking upon a body in motion, we follow its natural course. The mind falls with a heavy body, descends with a river, and ascends with flame and smoke. In tracing out a family, we incline to begin at the founder, and to descend gradually to his latest posterity. On the contrary, musing on a lofty oak, we begin at the trunk, and mount from it to the branches. As to historical facts, we love to proceed in the order of time; or, which comes to the same, to proceed along the chain of causes and effects.

But though, in following out a historical chain, our bent is to proceed orderly from causes to their effects, we find not the same bent in matters of science. There we seem rather disposed to proceed from effects to their causes, and from particular propositions to those which are more general. Why this difference in matters that appear so nearly related? The cases are similar in appearance only, not in reality. In a historical chain, every event is particular, the effect of some former event, and the cause of others that follow. In such a chain, there is nothing to bias the mind from the order of nature. Widely different is the case of science, when we endeavour to trace out causes and their effects. Many experiments are commonly reduced under one cause; and again, many of these under some one still more general and comprehensive. In our progress from particular effects to general causes, and from particular propositions to the more comprehensive, we feel a gradual dilatation or expansion of mind, like what is felt in proceeding along an ascending series, which is extremely delightful. The pleasure here exceeds what arises from following the course of nature; and it is this pleasure which regulates our train of thought in the case now mentioned, and in others that are similar. These observations, by the way, furnish materials for instituting a comparison betwixt the synthetic and analytic methods of reasoning. The synthetic method descending regularly from principles to their consequences, is more agreeable to the strictness of order. But in following the opposite course in the analytic method, we have a sensible pleasure, like mounting upward, which is not felt in the other. The analytic method is more agreeable to the imagination. The other method will be preferred by those only who with rigidity adhere to order, and give no indulgence to natural emotions[7].

It appears then that we are framed by nature to relish order and connection. When an object is introduced by a proper connection, we are conscious of a certain pleasure arising from that circumstance. Among objects of equal rank, the pleasure is proportioned to the degree of connection; but among unequal objects, where we require a certain order, the pleasure arises chiefly from an orderly arrangement. Of this one may be made sensible, in tracing objects contrary to the course of nature, or contrary to our sense of order. The mind proceeds with alacrity from a whole to its parts, and from a principal to its accessories; but in the contrary direction, it is sensible of a sort of retrograde motion, which is unpleasant. And here may be remarked the great influence of order upon the mind of man. Grandeur, which makes a deep impression, inclines us, in running over any series, to proceed from small to great, rather than from great to small. But order prevails over this tendency; and in parting from the whole to its parts, and from a subject to its ornaments, affords pleasure as well as facility, which are not felt in the opposite course. Elevation touches the mind not less than grandeur doth; and in raising the mind to elevated objects, there is a sensible pleasure. But the course of nature hath still a greater influence than elevation; and therefore the pleasure of falling with rain, and descending gradually with a river, prevails over that of mounting upward. Hence the agreeableness of smoke ascending in a calm morning. Elevation concurs with the course of nature, to make this object delightful.

I am extremely sensible of the disgust men generally have at abstract speculation; and for that reason I would avoid it altogether, were it possible in a work which professes to draw the rules of criticism from human nature, their true source. There is indeed no choice, other than to continue for some time in the same track, or to abandon the undertaking altogether. Candor obliges me to notify this to my readers, that such of them whose aversion to abstract speculation is invincible, may stop short here; for till principles be explained, I can promise no entertainment to those who shun thinking. But I flatter myself with a different taste in the bulk of readers. Some few, I imagine, will relish the abstract part for its own sake; and many for the useful purposes to which it may be applied. For encouraging the latter to proceed with alacrity, I assure them beforehand that the foregoing speculation leads to many important rules of criticism, which shall be unfolded in the course of this work. In the mean time, for instant satisfaction in part, they will be pleased to accept the following specimen.

It is required in every work of art, that, like an organic system, the constituent parts be mutually connected, and bear each of them a relation to the whole, some more intimate, some less, according to their destination. Order is not less essential than connection; and when due regard is paid to these, we have a sense of just composition, and so far are pleased with the performance. Homer is defective in order and connection; and Pindar more remarkably. Regularity, order, and connection, are painful restraints on a bold and fertile imagination; and are not patiently submitted to, but after much culture and discipline. In Horace there is no fault more eminent than want of connection. Instances are without number. In the first fourteen lines of ode 7. lib. 1. he mentions several towns and districts which by some were relished more than by others. In the remainder of the ode, Plancus is exhorted to drown his cares in wine. Having narrowly escaped death by the fall of a tree, this poet[8] takes occasion properly to observe, that while we guard against some dangers, we are exposed to others we cannot foresee. He ends with displaying the power of music. The parts of ode 16. lib. 2. are so loosely connected as to disfigure a poem otherwise extremely beautiful. The 1st, 2d, 3d, 4th, 11th, 24th, 27th odes of the 3d book, lie open all of them to the same censure. The 1st satire, book 1. is so deformed by want of unity and connection of parts, as upon the whole to be scarce agreeable. It commences with an important question, How it happens that persons who are so much satisfied with themselves, are generally so little with their condition? After illustrating the observation in a sprightly manner by several examples, the author, forgetting his subject, enters upon a declamation against avarice, which he pursues till the line 108. There he makes an apology for wandering, and promises to return to his subject. But avarice having got possession of his mind, he follows out that theme to the end, and never returns to the question proposed in the beginning.

In the Georgics of Virgil, though esteemed the most finished work of that author, the parts are ill connected, and the transitions far from being sweet and easy. In the first book[9] he deviates from his subject to give a description of the five zones. The want of connection here is remarkable, as well as in the description of the prodigies that accompanied the death of Cæsar, with which the same book is concluded. A digression upon the praises of Italy in the second book[10], is not more happily introduced. And in the midst of a declamation upon the pleasures of husbandry, that makes part of the same book[11], the author appears personally upon the stage without the slightest connection. The two prefaces of Sallust look as if they had been prefixed by some blunder to his two histories. They will suit any other history as well, or any subject as well as history. Even the members of these prefaces are but loosely connected. They look more like a number of maxims or observations than a connected discourse.

An episode in a narrative poem being in effect an accessory, demands not that strict union with the principal subject which is requisite betwixt a whole and its constituent parts. The relation however of principal and accessory being pretty intimate, an episode loosely connected with the principal subject will never be graceful. I give for an example the descent of Æneas into hell, which employs the sixth book of the Æneid. The reader is not prepared for this important event. No cause is assigned, that can make it appear necessary or even natural, to suspend, for so long a time, the principal action in its most interesting period. To engage Æneas to wander from his course in search of an adventure so extraordinary, the poet can find no better pretext, than the hero’s longing to visit the ghost of his father recently dead. In the mean time the story is interrupted, and the reader loses his ardor. An episode so extremely beautiful is not at any rate to be dispensed with. It is pity however, that it doth not arise more naturally from the subject. I must observe at the same time, that full justice is done to this incident, by considering it to be an episode; for if it be a constituent part of the principal action, the connection ought to be still more intimate. The same objection lies against that elaborate description of Fame in the Æneid[12]. Any other book of that heroic poem, or of any heroic poem, has as good a title to that description as the book where it is placed.

In a natural landscape, we every day perceive a multitude of objects connected by contiguity solely. Objects of sight make an impression so lively, as that a relation, even of the slightest kind, is relished. This however ought not to be imitated in description. Words are so far short of the eye in liveliness of impression, that in a description the connection of objects ought to be carefully studied, in order to make the deeper impression. For it is a known fact, the reason of which is suggested above, that it is easier by words to introduce into the mind a related object, than one which is not connected with the preceding train. In the following passage, different things are brought together without the slightest connection, if it be not what may be called verbal, i.e. taking the same word in different meanings.

Surgamus: solet esse gravis cantantibus umbra.

Juniperi gravis umbra: nocent et frugibus umbræ.

Ite domum saturæ, venit Hesperus, ite capellæ.

Virg. Buc. 10. 75.

The metaphorical or figurative appearance of an object, is no good cause for introducing that object in its real and natural appearance. A relation so slight can never be relished.

Distrust in lovers is too warm a sun;

But yet ’tis night in love when that is gone.

And in those climes which most his scorching know,

He makes the noblest fruits and metals grow.

Part 2. Conquest of Granada, act 3.

The relations among objects have a considerable influence in the gratification of our passions, and even in their production. But this subject is reserved to be treated in the chapter of emotions and passions[13].

There is perhaps not another instance of a building so great erected upon a foundation so slight in appearance, as that which is erected upon the relations of objects and their arrangement. Relations make no capital figure in the mind: the bulk of them are transitory, and some extremely trivial. They are however the links that, uniting our perceptions into one connected chain, produce connection of action, because perceptions and actions have an intimate correspondence. But it is not sufficient for the conduct of life that our actions be linked together, however intimately: it is beside necessary that they proceed in a certain order; and this also is provided for by an original propensity. Thus order and connection, while they admit sufficient variety, introduce a method in the management of affairs. Without them our conduct would be fluctuating and desultory; and we would be hurried from thought to thought, and from action to action, entirely at the mercy of chance.